


one ragged heartbeat

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, First Kiss, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sharing Body Heat, Stranded, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: “Jaskier,” he whispered once, just to say his name, breathing in the apple cider scent of Jaskier’s hair and allowing himself just one moment of pretending.“What,” Jaskier replied, barely more than a sleepy murmur muffled beneath blankets, and his cold hands shifted to tangle with Geralt’s.Geralt’s notoriously steady heart skipped a beat, and with that one ragged heartbeat he felt something within him crumble.***Geralt and Jaskier are stranded in a cave during a snowstorm. Things progress as you would expect, and Geralt has some feelings about that.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 90
Kudos: 1335





	one ragged heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I am attempting to maintain my sanity during quarantine by writing lots of Geraskier fics, why do you ask? Just a bit of snowstorm and feelings here, I'm working my way through all the tropes I ever loved.

It was very lucky, Geralt mused, that they had found the cave at all, given the swirling snow and oncoming nightfall. Had they not glimpsed it from the road they would have been in a much more dire situation, since they were too far from the last town and not close enough to the next one when the surprise storm had blown in. Geralt wouldn’t have chosen to live there, but it was certainly a serviceable cave for the night. There was even room and height enough for Roach to stand sheltered from the worst of the snow.

So it was with bemusement that he watched Jaskier clutching his own arms and exploring the little cave as though looking for something. Geralt couldn’t imagine what else they could have needed; the snow couldn’t touch them, they had food in their packs, and the bad weather would likely have passed by the morning.

“What are you looking for?” Geralt finally asked, removing his pack from Roach’s saddle and carrying it over to the flattest, smoothest spot on the cave floor.

“Anything better than what I can already see. Which is nothing.” Jaskier stood up, looking exasperated, and knocked his head on a low area of the cave ceiling. “Ouch.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “What did you expect, a feather bed? A fireplace?”

Jaskier brightened. “Is there a good place to build a fire?”

“No. Also, we have no wood.”

“Oh. Right, I forgot about that.” Jaskier made a face and kept looking around.

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, come sit down.”

He spread out their bedrolls beside each other and tossed a large fur pelt across them, then piled their extra blankets to one side. Jaskier clumsily made his way over and sat on the fur, huddled miserably even inside his cloak. Geralt handed him a wool blanket and he pulled that around his shoulders too.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else that lives here?” Jaskier asked, clearly still nervous. His face was a pale oval brightening the darkness, leached of color by the snow and the night.

“Anything that lived here is long gone,” Geralt replied, opening his pack and bringing out some bread and hard cheese. He handed half of the bread to Jaskier, who took it with a shaking hand. “So just relax, everything is fine.”

“Fine?” Jaskier’s voice went up an octave. “Everything is absolutely not fine, Geralt. We’re stranded in a blizzard in a freezing, pitch black cave with no fire and no way out.”

“It’s not a blizzard.”

“Swirling snow, Geralt. High winds. It’s a damn blizzard out there.”

“It’s not pitch black, either. It’s not even fully night yet.”

Jaskier leveled a flat look in his general direction. “Not all of us can see in the dark, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted. “There’s nothing to see, so just sit there. Eat.”

“Well, I’d feel a lot better if I could see. Right now I’m just freezing and effectively blind. I assume you’re somewhere over there,” he said, waving his hand around dramatically, just barely missing Geralt’s head.

Geralt ignored him and opened his wineskin. After a few minutes he said, “Give me your hand,” then put the wineskin in it and closed Jaskier’s fingers for him.

“Oh, thank you,” Jaskier said in a much more reasonable tone, and drank some wine.

“We’ll be fine, Jaskier,” Geralt said after a while. “We’ve got shelter and food.”

“But no fire,” he replied, finishing his food and brushing off his hands on his breeches.

“It’s not that cold.”

“Maybe not for you,” Jaskier muttered, burrowing into his blanket again.

Geralt sighed.

Eventually he grew weary of listening to Jaskier fidget. “Why don’t you play us something?”

“See, now I know the situation is dire, because you have never, ever asked me to play for you before.”

“Well…” Geralt shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to explain that he didn’t truly hate Jaskier’s singing after all. “We’ve nothing else to do.”

Jaskier fidgeted some more. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

“You’ve camped in snow before, Jaskier.”

“We always had a fire before, Geralt.”

Geralt tried to imagine what the temperature in the cave must have felt like to a man instead of a Witcher, and realized that it was actually very cold, and getting colder. The wind kept gusting through the cave in fits and starts, causing Jaskier to shiver every time it swept past them. Even Roach was stamping her feet and shifting around.

Geralt got up and took the largest of their blankets over to Roach. He tossed it over her back and rubbed her neck, mollified when she snorted and bumped him with her nose. Satisfied that she would be alright, Geralt returned to the back of the cave where Jaskier sat, morosely shivering.

“Is she okay?” Jaskier asked, his words stilted as he clenched his teeth from the cold.

“She’s fine,” Geralt replied, touched that Jaskier had asked. “A little cold, but she can weather it. Better than you, it looks like.”

Jaskier scoffed weakly. “Don’t mock a dying man.”

Geralt could have, but didn’t, roll his eyes. “If you were dying, rest assured I wouldn’t.”

Without Jaskier to entertain them as he usually did with lute and song, it seemed like as good of a time as any to sharpen his swords. He had learned to do it blind when he was a child, so the lack of good lighting didn’t matter anyway. He didn’t miss Jaskier’s flinch at the first shriek of blade against stone, but he set an easy rhythm and after a moment Jaskier relaxed again. For a long time there was only the sound of the blades and the wind outside.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Geralt pointed out when he had finished his task and set his things aside.

“I figured you would be happy about that,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt frowned. “I’m just...used to the noise.”

Jaskier sniffed. “What would you like me to make noise about?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt replied slowly, his mind blank. He cast about for something that would interest Jaskier. “Tell me what you would be if you couldn’t be a bard.”

“Perish the thought,” Jaskier said gravely, then appeared to think it over. “I suppose I would be a painter. I’ve a good eye for it, though it was never my specialty. If I were to lose my voice, gods forbid, I would pick up a brush again.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, pondering that.

“I like showing people the best in themselves,” Jaskier continued, still shivering but distracted from it. “Holding up a mirror for them through song or art or love.”

“Or friendship,” Geralt said, unthinking.

Jaskier smiled into the darkness. “Friendship, love, they’re the same if you think about it.”

Geralt blinked and held his breath, not sure what would escape if he opened his mouth but unwilling to take a chance on it. The sound of the wind past the entrance of the cave seemed louder, as though rushing to fill the silence between them.

After a moment the smile faded from Jaskier’s mouth and he looked down with blind eyes, stretching out his hand to feel the shape of the fur beneath him, mapping it out.

“I think I’ll just go to sleep now,” he said softly as he lay down, curling up facing away from Geralt and huddling under his cloak and blanket.

Geralt slowly put out a hand toward him, but just as slowly drew it back. Jaskier couldn’t see it anyway, so it was just a harmless almost-slip on his part. There was no sense in feeding Jaskier’s sense of the romantic; better to let him continue to think Witchers couldn’t feel, than to reveal the truth that Geralt felt too much.

There was no future with a Witcher, and the sooner Jaskier tired of life on the road the better. Perhaps this unusually cold winter would convince him that he had enough good stories to last him a lifetime, and he would decide to settle down somewhere he could write in comfort and perform without all this time on the road. This life would only lead him to an early death.

Since he didn’t really need the sleep, Geralt just tossed a blanket over his legs and settled his back against the cave wall to lightly doze beside Jaskier. It was still fairly early in the evening and it would be a long night without Jaskier’s voice to distract him, but perhaps that would be for the best.

***

Sometime in the night he was awakened by the feel of Jaskier moving beside him, and Geralt put a hand on the blanket-shape of him to discover that he was shivering hard enough to rattle bones. 

“Jaskier,” he said softly, then louder when he got no response.

He knew that shivering was good, that lack of shivering actually meant things had reached a dangerous point, but still he curled his hand over Jaskier’s shoulder in concern. There was a thin sheen of frost on his cloak, and Geralt tugged back the edge of his hood to watch Jaskier’s shallow puffed breaths in the air.

Geralt checked again on Roach, who seemed unconcerned by the cold but appreciative of the attention anyway, then he returned to Jaskier’s side. He hesitated for a minute, watching Jaskier shake, then with a sigh he removed his cloak and unbuckled his armor, and set it all aside.

He tugged away Jaskier’s blanket and removed the cloak from around his shoulders, and Jaskier groaned miserably when the cold air hit him but didn’t seem to wake up. Geralt took a deep breath, then forged ahead into what he knew would end up being a terrible decision, laying down behind Jaskier and pulling their cloaks and blankets over both of them.

It was immediately warmer within their woolen cocoon, and Geralt reluctantly slid one arm beneath Jaskier’s head and wrapped the other arm around his midsection. He pulled Jaskier back against him and closed his eyes at the feeling of another body next to his after a long drought of physical contact. Jaskier shook violently with the cold and Geralt gathered him close, tucking his hands warmly within his own. He felt the calluses on Jaskier’s icy fingertips from years of lute-strings, and tried not to notice how well his hand fit inside Geralt’s.

It was cruel, Geralt knew, to allow himself to enjoy this. Cruel because he had long ago decided to cut their developing relationship off at the knees, stopping anything before it had begun. He had trained the wanting out of himself, or so he had thought. But here he was, cradling Jaskier in his arms because there was no campfire between them to create that safe space in the night, a reminder to keep his distance.

“Jaskier,” he whispered once, just to say his name, breathing in the apple cider scent of Jaskier’s hair and allowing himself just one moment of pretending.

“What,” Jaskier replied, barely more than a sleepy murmur muffled beneath blankets, and his cold hands shifted to tangle with Geralt’s.

Geralt’s notoriously steady heart skipped a beat, and with that one ragged heartbeat he felt something within him crumble. “Are you alright?”

“I’m freezing,” he muttered, still shivering, and curled himself further into a ball.

Geralt curved around him, creating a mirror behind him with elbows and knees, following him with his warmth. “Hold still, I’m trying to help.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier sounded confused, his fingers tightening on Geralt’s. Another shiver wracked his body and Geralt held him tighter.

“Hush,” Geralt said, the same way he’d soothe Roach. “Just relax.”

Jaskier moved slightly, pushing back into Geralt’s arms. Geralt pulled him in and hooked his calf over Jaskier’s, holding him still. Against his will Geralt’s body was responding, which had only been a matter of time, to the unprecedented closeness of the man Geralt had spent years trying not to want. His cock was rising, and Geralt could no more stop it than he could stop the snow storm outside.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on other things, the whistle of the wind or the feel of the fur underneath their bodies, but he kept coming around again to the warmth that radiated between the two of them as they lay there sharing space and heat.

Jaskier squirmed against him and Geralt disentangled their hands to clamp down on his hip, forcing him still but also holding him there with Geralt’s cock trapped between them. He wanted to let go but couldn’t decide whether friction or pressure would defeat him first.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said again, this time with a much different tone, and very deliberately moved into the hold on his hip.

Geralt groaned, tightening his fingers on Jaskier’s hip to the point that he worried about bruising. “Stop,” he breathed, but it was so soft that the whistle of the wind stole it away. He nudged his cock against Jaskier’s ass and felt the answering groan as a vibration through both their bodies.

He waited for what felt like a century before Jaskier moved again, a clear rolling of his hips back into Geralt’s, and Geralt hissed and followed his motion. He pressed his nose behind Jaskier’s ear and breathed him in, that summer-scent in the middle of winter, and Jaskier tipped his head forward, baring his neck. Geralt dragged his lips over that soft skin, biting gently and listening with a suddenly racing heart to the cry that Jaskier made.

“Are you awake? Please tell me you’re awake,” Geralt said against the nape of his neck. He shifted his hand from Jaskier’s hip to flatten across the waistband of his breeches.

Jaskier sucked in a breath. “I’m not completely certain. Bite me again so I can be sure.”

Very, very gently Geralt scraped his teeth over Jaskier’s neck, then nipped harder at a tendon, a sharp little sting. Jaskier moaned long and low.

“I’m awake.” His voice wavered.

“Are you with me?”

“I’ve been with you for ages, Geralt, you just never noticed.” He dragged Geralt’s hand lower on his belly, just edging against his erection. His heaving breaths had replaced the shivers that shook their blankets.

“I noticed,” Geralt whispered, nuzzling his neck.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Jaskier sounded plaintive, desperate for what was probably a multitude of reasons.

Geralt was trying and failing not to keep brushing the tip of Jaskier’s cock. “Because this is a terrible idea.”

Jaskier scoffed, rocking against Geralt’s hand. “I disagree.”

“Right now, so do I,” Geralt said, giving in and covering Jaskier’s cock fully, tracing the contours with his fingers until Jaskier bucked in his arms.

“Please,” he said, trying to turn toward Geralt. “Will you kiss me?”

“Wait,” Geralt ordered, squeezing his erection.

Jaskier groaned in frustration and went about unbuttoning his breeches, until Geralt knocked his hand out of the way and did it himself. His cock was hot and hard, probably the warmest thing on the whole cave, and Jaskier hissed when Geralt’s hand closed around it. The head was already slick when Geralt dragged his thumb across the slit, easing the way as he slowly began a tugging rhythm that made Jaskier squirm.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you? For how long?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied, wishing he had a free hand to explore more of Jaskier’s body.

“Damn you,” Jaskier gritted out, his dulcet voice turned rough. He wrapped his hand around Geralt’s and adjusted the rhythm the way he wanted, and together they brought him to a trembling crest with fingers tangled together. 

“Please, please,” Jaskier was whispering, trying to turn his face back to Geralt, who mouthed at Jaskier’s jaw and thrust his cock straight into the cleft of Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier came silently, rigid with breath held, pulsing again and again into Geralt’s hand.

Geralt wiped his hand on the corner of one of their blankets and held Jaskier close while he gulped in frigid air and exhaled steam, shaking with heat this time instead of cold. After a minute Jaskier turned in his arms and took Geralt’s face in his hands, lifting his mouth to graze Geralt’s and try to draw him into a kiss.

“Geralt,” he said, running his fingers into Geralt’s hair and gripping gently. “Kiss me, come on. Surely you’ll kiss me now.”

Geralt groaned and dropped his mouth to Jaskier’s, finally giving in to something that felt more intimate than what they had already done. Jaskier sipped so sweetly at his lips, his tongue flicking out and drawing Geralt in, and he was absolutely helpless to do anything but be kissed. Jaskier kissed him as though he already knew what Geralt needed, anticipating him and offering everything he had.

Jaskier started unbuttoning his doublet and Geralt pulled back. “It’s too cold, Jaskier.”

He shook his head. “I just need to feel you.” He tugged the halves of his doublet aside and Geralt suddenly saw the wisdom in it when he finally got a hand on Jaskier’s body. Even though he was still wearing his embroidered shirt, Geralt could feel the warmth of his skin and traced the soft curve of his ribs. Jaskier arched up when Geralt found the nub of his nipple through the fabric, and he was dazed and smiling in the dark.

Geralt shifted between Jaskier’s legs and lowered himself so that they could both feel the heat radiating between them. Jaskier drew one leg up around his hip and Geralt grunted, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s. “I want all of you,” Geralt confessed, a huge part of him spilling out into the cold darkness.

Jaskier kissed him, lush and open. “You can have all of me, later, if you still want it.”

Geralt felt like his heart was bleeding out into his chest. “I shouldn’t.”

“Who says? Can’t we make our own destiny?”

Helplessly, Geralt held him hard and kissed him until Jaskier was gasping for air and slipping one free hand down to the buttons of Geralt’s breeches. Geralt’s cock was straining the fabric, making it hard to release, and every twist of Jaskier’s fingers was like brilliant torture. He thrust into the touch and Jaskier clucked his tongue at him.

“Relax, Witcher, we’ll get there.” His grin was gorgeous, all teasing and pleasure-soaked. He finally released Geralt’s cock into his hand and wrapped his fingers around him, and he sighed softly. “I have not waited in vain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt gasped, trying to think while all his walls were burning down.

“Do you know how lovely you are? Everything I dreamed of, and I haven’t even laid eyes on you yet.” He stroked him lazily, both lighter and slower than Geralt wanted, and he loved the denial. “Tell me what you need, Geralt. I can’t see you, so I need to hear you.”

Geralt dragged his mouth across Jaskier’s cheekbone. “I need you to take me to the edge and keep me there. Don’t let me come.”

Jaskier shivered, but this time Geralt didn’t think it was from the cold. “Your wish is my command.”

He held his hand up to Geralt’s mouth and Geralt took his time licking his palm and fingers until they were wet and warm, tasting salt and Jaskier’s come. Jaskier slid his hand down between them and took Geralt in hand, finding that maddeningly slow rhythm again. Geralt braced himself up above Jaskier and kissed him just as slowly.

With his other hand Jaskier sifted through Geralt’s hair, tugging gently until Geralt groaned and pulled against the pressure.

“Do you like that? Do you want me to hold you back this way too?”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

Both of Jaskier’s hands tightened at the same time and Geralt gasped, his control already shaky just from that. Jaskier let go all at once and Geralt growled at him. “Not yet, I didn’t say you could,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt heaved in a few breaths, backing off enough to keep from coming right then. After a moment he kissed Jaskier again, trying to convey his thanks and his approval. Jaskier relaxed into the kiss, and slowly by degrees started up a rhythm again and tightened the hand in Geralt’s hair.

Three times Jaskier took him right up to the edge without letting him go over, until Geralt was trembling with sensation, every nerve on fire. When Jaskier finally whispered in his ear, “Now,” Geralt’s breath shook and he plummeted in a freefall of pleasure, burning as he came in a throbbing rush into Jaskier’s hands. “That’s it,” Jaskier soothed, pressing kisses to Geralt’s cheek and throat, letting him land softly.

Geralt’s breath shuddered and it took a long time for his heart to drop down to its normal even cadence. He knew he’d made either a monumentally bad decision or the best one possible. Either way he suspected that it would define the rest of his life.

Jaskier was looking for somewhere to wipe his hand and Geralt stirred himself enough to help, then collapsed onto Jaskier’s side. The cocoon of their blankets had shifted, letting in the frigid air, and together they put it to rights again. Jaskier rearranged their limbs until he could put his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and Geralt held him as close as he could.

“Next time I need a fire, a huge fire, before we do this. Or preferably a bed with a fireplace. Some candles, maybe. There is something to be said for the sense of touch when the sense of sight is deprived, but I need to see you. Your eyes.”

Geralt smiled despite his misgivings. “I would have thought it was something other than my eyes you longed to see.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I won’t deny my curiosity, but I didn’t first fall in love with your cock.”

Warmth spread through his belly in a confusing rush. “You’re in love with my eyes?” he asked, trying to deflect.

Jaskier swatted him on the arm. “You know what I meant.” His voice was oddly airless.

Geralt tentatively touched his hair, sifting through the silky, sweat-streaked fall of it over his forehead.

“It’s alright, I don’t expect you to say it back. In fact I’d rather you didn’t. If you do, you’ll do it in your own time and way, and if you don’t, well I’ll still be glad I told you. We all deserve to know when we’re loved.” Jaskier gently stroked his long, calloused fingers over Geralt’s heart, either by design or coincidence Geralt did not know.

He might not have had a ready answer for him, but he could tip Jaskier’s face up with a finger under his chin and kiss him like he never wanted to stop, which was true enough.

“I’m not cold anymore,” Jaskier murmured when they did finally break apart for air, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder once more. “I feel like I ought to be.”

“It’s always easier with two,” Geralt replied, shifting to tangle his legs with Jaskier’s.

“I believe that must be the answer,” he said sleepily, burrowing closer against Geralt.

Geralt closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

***

In the morning Geralt was awakened by Jaskier leaving their nest of blankets. He felt Jaskier take his cloak from the pile and walk away, and after a moment Geralt decided to investigate. He sat up and saw Jaskier talking softly with Roach, who looked no worse for wear after a wintery night.

Geralt threw his own cloak around his shoulders and joined Jaskier at the mouth of the cave, where he had moved to look out into the world. He came up behind and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose behind Jaskier’s ear to find that sweetness he was so familiar with, now warmed like mulled wine with the scent of pleasure.

The winds had stopped and so had the snow, leaving the world dawn-bright and glittering, all soft at the edges. The snowdrifts looked like dandelion fluff, and the branches of the trees were crystalline. It would be hard to ride through but Roach could make it to the road, and then it was on to the next town and the comfort of an inn.

Jaskier looked over his shoulder at Geralt, and whatever he saw there caused him to turn in his arms and place cold hands on Geralt’s cheeks. He held his gaze for a long moment, his breath making frosty clouds, a sort of dazed wonder in his pale blue eyes. “There you are,” Jaskier finally said, and smiled.

Geralt’s heart gathered speed as he kissed Jaskier in the sunlight, thinking that if this wasn’t love, he was surely almost there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments brighten my day!


End file.
